Too Full
by Chihori Anigma
Summary: After being ignored for so long Canada begins to fell as if his whole world is imaginary and the only thing that stabilizes him, the only thing that seems real, are his pancakes and maple syrup. Warning:Eating disorders HAITUS
1. Chapter 1

**Warning-Eating Disorders**

**A/N: Look, if you have favorited or followed this story thank you very much. I really appreciate it and it makes me really happy. The same for if you left a review. But I will not be updating this regularly. I write and post chapters based on my emotions and emotions aren't stable things. So I hope to finish this, but it will probably take a few years and updates will be very irregular. Thanks for reading.**

I bang on the invisible walls of my room, screaming to get out.

Of course my room isn't real. Nothing is anymore. Not even I am real. Only my pancakes and maple syrup are real.

I take another bunch of pancakes out of the freezer and put them in the microwave. I'm too tired to cook my own pancakes these days, so I just buy them from the store.

The microwave dings. I take the pancakes out and pour maple syrup on them. I offer one to my imaginary bear, Kumajiro, but he just asks, "Who are you?" I eat the pancakes by myself.

Halfway through the now familiar taste of bile fills my throat. I rush to the couch and lay on it, head facing up, willing myself not to throw-up.

My body shakes and shivers, but I eventually fall into a deep sleep. I love sleep now. It doesn't let me think of anything and the terrors that fill my waking hours are gone.

When I wake up I run to the kitchen so I can eat-again. This time I eat three plates of pancakes before my body decides it can't hold it in. I lean over my toilet-is it really here?-and throw up all my food.

After I finish I sit there shivering from cold, too exhausted to get up or even cry.

Eventually I hear a knock at the door. I ignore it for a while, thinking that it must be a wrong address since no one ever comes to visit me. But the knock at the door persists and I finally get up.

"These salesmen are so stubborn." I mutter to myself. "I hate them. I wish he hadn't come."

But as I open the door I realize that it is not a salesman standing before me.

"Mathieu?" Papa gasps.

For a second the fear I'm feeling shows on my face, but I hide it quickly like I always do.

"Hey, Papa. Last night was the opening night of hockey season. I was with a few friends of mine and we went a little crazy and drank a lot. Come in, I'll go wash up." I say it all in a rush, so that I won't forget it. It is the speech I rehearsed in case someone _did _come over. When I'm not eating or sleeping I am making up excuses in case someone asks me a question.

Papa doesn't look convinced, but sits down in the living room as I go into the bathroom to take a shower.

When I come out he isn't in there anymore. "Papa!" I call out and start frantically looking behind the furniture as if he would have hidden there.

"I'm in the kitchen, Mathieu," he says and his voice sounds strange.

My whole body slows down and I start shaking violently. _Not the kitchen. Not the kitchen. Not the kitchen. _My mind whirls and I sit down heavily. _Not the kitchen. Not the kitchen. Not the kitchen. _I left a mess in the kitchen. I hadn't cleaned anything in it for a week and I had been eating constantly.

"Mathieu?" Papa's voice sounds closer. I can't let him see me like this. I stand up and with an effort, paste a smile on my face.

"What happened to your kitchen, Mathieu?" He comes into view. "And why are you looking at me like that?"

My body stiffens together with my mind. I didn't plan for this. I didn't think of anybody going into my kitchen or my fake smile not working. I didn't plan for Papa-the person who knows me best-to come.

"Mathieu?" The voice seems to come from a thousand miles away. I feel hands on my shoulders. Someone shakes me.

"Mathieu, wake up!"

But I can't wake up. My life is a nightmare-dream and the only thing that's real is food.

"Mathieu!"

I drag myself back into the real world-the world that doesn't revolve around me and food. With an effort I paste a smile on my face.

"Yes, Papa?"

"Mathieu, are you alright?" He tugs me over to the couch and starts checking me over. "You blacked out. Should I take you to the doctor?"

"Papa, it's fine. I just don't feel that well. I told you, I had a rough night." Papa still doesn't look convinced. "I need to rest a little. Can I see you the day after tomorrow?"

That should be enough time to put my house in order. I start frantically making plans about how I will clean my house and hardly see the movement of Papa's face as he nods. As I walk him to the door I think about how I will make my house clean and not only that I will eat like a normal person.

After Papa leaves I turn around to face the disgustingly dirty space I have been living in. I had decided to start with my room.

As I walk towards the closet where I store my mops and brooms I feel my shirt move against my stomach. At first it is a comfortable feeling, but as I think more about it, it turns uncomfortable, then unpleasant and then unnerving. I am almost at the closet when the need for food overwhelms me.

I turn, run for the kitchen and stuff my face with food, tears streaming down my cheeks.

_You are such a failure, Matthew, _whispers the voice in my head. _Can't even keep a promise to yourself. Can't even eat like a regular person. You are so stupid. So abnormal. Why do you even try doing anything right?_

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" I cover my ears with one hand and continue shovelling food in with the other.

But the voice in my head continues.

**Prompts: Walls, Write using the theme of being uninformed**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning-Eating Disorders**

I wake up in the morning and immediately realize that Papa is coming today and my house is still a mess. My brain tells me to get up quickly and clean up what I can and I imagine adrenaline pumping through my body, but in reality the adrenaline does not come and I have to force myself up.

I look at the alarm clock on my nightstand, the one I never turn on anymore, knowing I have nothing to get up for, nothing really to live for. It says 10:14. Papa should come in around an hour. He usually likes to eat brunch with me. _Eat. No, no, no. He can't see me eat; the pig I have become. I can't let anyone see me eat._

My thoughts start to stifle me, pulling me under where I can't breathe. The world starts to vanish leaving only my thoughts to torment me. _No! _I push the thoughts into the back of my mind, promising them I'll think about them later, but they continue to try to smother me. The next time I look at the clock it is almost eleven.

I hurry to the shower, _not thinking, not thinking, not thinking_. I clean up what I can of the kitchen and living room still_not thinking, not thinking, not thinking_. By the time the doorbell rings I have plastered a smile on my face and I am feeling just the tiniest bit more relaxed.

"Mathieu!" Papa greets me, wrapping me in a hug. He didn't hug me last time. It is because you don't look the disgusting pig you are this time, the voice tells me. I agree with the voice that I am a disgusting pig.

"Mathieu? Is something the matter?" I notice I haven't hugged Papa back. Because I was thinking of myself and not him. I hate myself for it.

_I want to eat._

"No, Papa." I hug him back. "I didn't actually prepare the food yet so I'll go make it now. You can sit in the living room."

"It's fine, _ma cherie_," Papa laughs and places the box of croissants he was holding on the living room table. "Your brother forgets all the time."

My brother. I feel myself tense up. I love my brother, but I don't want to see him right now. Even talk about him. The way he eats disgusts me, stuffing hamburgers and milkshakes down in his throat as if he hasn't eaten in six years. He's also a little chubby and something about that makes me look away from him.

I know I have worse eating habits than him and now probably weigh more, but I still can't stand to think about him. I'm scared he's like me. That he can't live without eating, that his days are filled with horror and his nights with dreams.

As I walk into the kitchen Papa follows me.

"I'll help you make the food," he says. I notice him looking around, studying everything. The tiny bit of relaxation I was feeling vanishes. I tense up and smile wider.

In the freezer I find two grilled paninis from Tim Horton's. While I put them in the microwave Papa makes a salad from some almost rotting vegetables.

"It's not like you to have all this already-prepared food around," he remarks. I didn't make up a reply for that if anyone asked me. My brain starts panicking, but my body already knows what to do. It nods and makes an unconditional sound, bending over the microwave.

We eat at the living room table, me picking at the food and mumbling replies to Papa's conversation. When we finish eating Papa sits back and looks at me. My eyes automatically dash away from his, scared that if they meet Papa will know everything that's going on. He asks the question anyway.

"Mathieu, what is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Papa, I don't know what you are talking about." I pick up the plates, meaning to bring them to the sink.

"Stop." Papa's hand is touching my wrist. "There is something wrong. Please tell me what it is, Mathieu. I want to help."

"I'm fine, Papa." My voice sounds monotone, not convinced in itself so I repeat my words. "I'm fine, Papa." I still don't look him in the face.

Papa doesn't ask any more questions, but helps me put away the left over food, all the while talking about these two puppies his friend bought. I tell him that his friend should have gotten puppies from a shelter and not from a pet store, and the conversation sounds almost normal.

When he leaves Papa kisses me and I can feel his eyes on me, worrying, though I still haven't looked at him since he asked me what was wrong. I let him kiss me and hug him back, but I am scared to hug too tight or too long in case Papa thinks I am asking for help with the hug. It lasts barely a second.

When he is out of the door and it is closed behind him I finally let myself break down. The thoughts come washing over me like flood water that was held back too long by a dam. I cry and choke over the toilet though nothing comes out of my throat.

I don't remember going to sleep. I wake up the next morning-afternoon with my clothes still on and the blankets on the floor, but me in my bed.


End file.
